2 April 1635
It's chilly out, but getting warmer. The first daffodils and crocuses are poking out from the hard-packed dirt, and the leaves are just beginning to bud on the trees. Nepeta is carefully tending to the flower garden, gently weeding and water and persuading little buds to emerge, while Meulin is more invested in Dolora's garden, I suppose since that's where the herbs grow and she does want to be a midwife like I am. (Or so she says.) She's only fifteen, so who knows what will happen in the next few years? Heaven knows I didn't know what I wanted when I was fifteen.
Nepeta doesn't know at all what she wants, but then, she's only eleven. It is far more important that she learn as much as she likes, makes friends she can trust, and begins exploring what she wants. She'll know what she wants when she needs to know, not a moment sooner.
I'm awfully tired. It might be best to lie down for a bit.
6 April 1635
I woke up this morning aching all over, chilled to the bone, and exhausted. I normally do not feel much better than this, but I could tell that for once it was body and not my mind's pernicious influence over my body. I managed to get out of bed and make breakfast, but after that I was too exhausted to do the things I normally do in a day and I had to sit down and rest.
"Mama?" Nepeta asked.
"What is it, Nepeta?"
"Are you okay?"
"I'm not feeling well," I said. "Where's your sister?"
"In the library."
"Bring her here, please."
When Meulin was there, I said, "Meulin, little love, I need you to go find my friend Mr. Zahhak. Do you remember where he lives? We worked with his wife."
"Yes. Mama, are you okay?"
"I'm not feeling well," I said again. "Tell him to come here, I need to see him. Nepeta, can you get out some chicken broth and heat it up?" My head was pounding, but I needed to act alright for my girls. I can't afford to die now, not when they're so young. They need me.
Patrik arrived in an awful tizzy not too long after that and shooed my girls outside.
"Are you alright, Dianna?"
Hearing my real name was already a relief-it is a weight off my mind to remember that I have one. I love it when my girls call me Mama because I know I am their mother and they love me, but sometimes it's good to remember who I was before.
"I'm not feeling well at all," I said. "I-I think it might be influenza, but I'm so tired I can't think straight. I just need someone to make some food and stop in a few times to check on my girls for a week or so. I'll be back to normal before you know it."
"I cannot cook."
I wanted to smash my head against the table. Of course he doesn't. Of course no one ever taught him.
"Can you ask Mabell?"
"I-alright. And my children?"
"Patrik, I'm not asking you to move here. I just mean…stop by, put stew on the stove, and make sure my daughters are going to be alright."
"What medicines do you need?"
"Um…I need the pain medicine, in the blue jar, mostly. And my tea with St. John's wort. I'll need some garlic-"
"Garlic?"
"Yes, it does grow around here, you know. And if I have any ginger or lemon on hand."
"How on Earth do you remember all of this?"
"I've been doing it my whole life. And I have Dolora's book if I ever need it."
He nodded, then said, "I will go find my wife."
"Thank you."
Mabell came over with her sons, and she prepared medicines as I directed her and also made a stew from what I had left in storage.
"Is there anything in this room?" she asked, hand hovering over the door to the cupboard under the stairs.
"No," I said.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing to eat," I said. "I'm going to go upstairs to lie down. I feel dizzy."
That cupboard is where we keep everything of Luke's. Perhaps I'll open it if or when my daughters have their own children, but right now I can't. I have two living daughters; I can't afford to collapse into melancholy again.
9 April 1635
I don't feel much better. Mabell and Patrik have been coming by every day to make food and bring their sons to spend time with my daughters, and they're both just too kind, but I don't feel better. I need to be better. I can't afford to be ill for long. I'm the midwife! Who on Earth can take care of the women if the midwife can't?
I have to get better. I have to.
13 April 1635
I felt a bit better today, but this time of year…it is not a happy time for me. Twelve years ago today, my love was alive and with me but we were being tortured for wanting a better future. It was one of the last times I saw him alive. He told me he loved me. He gave me his cloak so I wouldn't bleed to death in that cell. He told me to run.
I love them. I love Sigmun, Simonn, and Dolora, and Hannah, and everyone. I miss them so, so much. I can't stop.
16 April 1635
I felt a little better today, and when I went downstairs, I hugged Meulin right away and said, "Good morning, little love. You know, four years ago today, I found you and brought you home."
"Are you feeling better, Mama?"
"Much better," I said. "And I think today we should start a new tradition. I want to celebrate the days I adopted you girls."
She grinned. "Like we celebrate our birthdays?"
"Yes, exactly. I'm going to make a special dinner and some sweets and we will all celebrate how lucky we are to be a family."
"I don't think it was luck," she said.
"Oh?"
"I think it was fate. I think God brought you to me."
"Little love…"
"I know I said I thought you were an angel. I think an angel brought you to me and I saw that angel when I first saw you. God saved all of us."
"I-I think you might just be right," I agreed. Maybe God did save all of us that day, bringing me to Meulin and then Nepeta to me. Maybe God knew that we'd be a family, if only we could find each other. "Maybe you were the angel, little love."
She smiled, then said, "Come see the garden! It looks really good."
"I will!" I said, and I did. And Nepeta found me outside and showed me the flowers, which are just starting to sprout. I told her about celebrating the day she came to me, and she told me that sounded like a very good idea.
April has haunted me since Simonn started having those nightmares of his, even before we left. I want to change that. I'm going to do my damnedest to make April the happiest month of the year for my girls, because it's the month we became a family.
21 April 1635
I feel perfectly fine, finally. It only took two weeks! Maybe I am a little weaker than I thought.
But never mind that. I made my rounds today, and everyone seems alright. Pregnancies are progressing normally and everyone's been taking their medicines when I tell them, especially since I sent Meulin with more.
Mabell and Patrik are still grieving for little Phillip. I went to see them and sat with them, made them tea and all, and we didn't say much-just sat together. Part of my job is to help when the worst comes to pass, and it has for them. I'll do whatever I can. I owe them, since they helped me when I was ill. And more than that-they're my friends. I'm going to help them.
25 April 1635
Today Patrik came by for tea and he asked, "When your…when your Luke passed, how did you ever manage?"
"I'm not sure," I said. "I…it still hurts me sometimes to think of him. But when I remember his sweet smile, sometimes it's light more than it hurts." I sighed. "And sometimes it's not."
"How do things ever return to how they were?"
"They don't," I said. "They never do. You just need to find a new way to be alright."
He frowned and I saw a tear drip down his face. "I don't understand."
"What?"
"I do not understand why this hurts me. I knew he would die. I knew at least one of my children would pass."
"Patrik, losing a child…there's nothing like it. If you're the carrier, you spend months growing a tiny little life inside you and then endure hours of pain to bring them into the world. If you're not, there's a little one you can't possibly understand growing inside someone you care about deeply, and it's going to be yours to care for soon. And then the baby is born and you have to care for them every moment, and you pour your love and energy and everything onto that child, and then…and then nothing. Then there's nothing where there was something and it's never, ever the same."
"Could you have had another child?"
"No. It might have killed me."
"You were not too afraid?"
"I couldn't have another child. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I was afraid, but my body wouldn't let me have another even if I wanted one." What a treacherous thing, my body is.
He nodded. "I am sorry."
"I'm sorry too."
"You have not done anything."
"I'm sorry you're hurting."
"And I am sorry you are hurting."
It was quiet for a long time, and then he thanked me for the tea and hugged me goodbye. He's never done that before, and I felt…touched. He's learning to breathe, after all these years. I only hope I can help.
28 April 1635
Grantt sent me another letter today and I am still fuming. How dare he! He killed my husband, the love of my life, and sold my mother and my best friend, and he now has the gall to act kind? And it's not real kindness, either, just the possessiveness of a man who only ever learned to see women as another kind of toy. How could I ever have loved Sigmun, he asks? I loved him because he was kind and gentle and soft and he respected me, trusted me, and I respected him and I knew I could trust him. He would hold me and stroke my hair and say soft things to me about how he loved me no matter what, and I loved him so much. So what that he couldn't "provide for me"? I can provide for myself, and he took care of our baby.
I threw his letter in the fire. I threw the last one in the fire eight years ago, and this one is also going in the fire. I will not be told what I thought or felt, or what I should've thought or felt, or what I should think and feel now.
And if the rumors are true, he's married this time. Unfaithful measle.
1 May 1635
Of course my daughters have noticed how irate I've been the past few days. I told them someone who was responsible for a great deal of my pain has attempted to apologize, but he went about it quite badly. That's almost true-I'm not sure Grantt knows what an apology is, but even if he tried to give one I would not accept it. I would thank him, but he cannot undo what he has done to me. He can never make it truly right.
I know my love would forgive him, but I can't.
6 May 1635
I don't sleep as well alone. I slept well when I held my love as I slept, when I could curl up and let him hold me close. I know it was weak, but sometimes I just needed him to put his arms around me and hold me there. I can't explain what it was, but I was safe in that moment. He'd kiss my forehead and whisper that he loved me and it would be okay.
I haven't been sleeping much lately. I wake up in the middle of the night and I can't move and I can feel a presence in the room, something malicious and dangerous, and by the time it's gone all I want in the world is my love to hold me and he's not there. He never will be and I miss him so much.
I know the presence isn't real, but it is so frightening that I might believe my home was haunted if I believed in such things. And if it wasn't for that the only people who could haunt this home are the farthest from malicious there could be. Mischievous, perhaps, but never malicious. Never.
10 May 1635
My daughter's flower garden is starting to bloom in spectacular fashion. The green leaves and buds are making the front of my home prettier than it's been in ages. I can't wait for the buds to turn into bright flowers. I think seeing the flowers will make my daughters happy, and I know seeing them happy will make me feel…a little less miserable at least. Seeing them happy make me happy-their smiles are the sun of my world, bright and full of life. Simonn always said sunlight was what gave us life here. My girls are my sunshine.
16 May 1635
It's such a lovely day today. Were I younger, I would've loved to go walking today with my love, perhaps also with Simonn or with Luke. And were I even younger, I would've run in the woods and climbed a tree to hide from Simonn as he counted down from a hundred. Or I would've raced them to the top, or lied down in the clearing with the forget-me-nots and stared up at the sky, contemplating the realities of our world. I remember when we had the world at our feet, and we knew we could do whatever we wanted.
How wrong we were.
21 May 1635
My Nepeta showed off her flowers to me today, pointing out the prettiest and most colorful of the blooms.
"Look, Mama, the bluebells are all out. And the early purple orchids."
"They're beautiful," I said. "And the carnations are out in full."
She plucked a daisy and handed it to me. "Aren't they lovely?"
"They are wonderful," I told her, tucking the daisy into my hair. Her hair is slowly turning darker from the bright daisy-blonde it once was, but the brown is lovely too. Her sister's hair is even darker, closer to my color. I was blonde when I was little, so I suppose that makes sense. She is related to me, after all.
It is…odd, to me, that I have family. Of course it's odd that I have two daughters, considering I almost fell apart and died and I have no husband. But after losing my little Luke, it is odd to see children who are related to me growing up. They're going to have children of their own someday, and I'm going to have descendants.
How strange.
24 May 1635
I took my girls outside tonight to look at the stars and point out my old favorite constellations.
"That one is the Plough, part of a bigger constellation called Ursa Major-the large bear."
"Is that cross something?" Meulin asked.
"Yes. That's Cygnus, the swan. And over there is Ursa Minor, the small bear. In that, you can see the North Star, which is always in the north. You can use it to navigate."
"How can you do that?" Nepeta asked. "Don't you need to know where you are and where you're going?"
"Well, if you know those things, you can use the star to get from one to another. If I was in the city, I know we're south of there, so I could just go against the star and get home."
"Hm," Nepeta said. "That would be useful if you had to get somewhere without a road, or across a desert."
"Exactly," I said. "People use it when crossing the ocean."
"Crossing the ocean?" Nepeta asked, wide-eyed. "People do that?"
"Oh, yes," I said. "Across the country-east of here-that way," I pointed. "Is a huge ocean. Across that ocean, which is thousands of times larger than our whole country, is another gigantic land, where hundreds of thousands of people who speak a language we've never even heard of live."
"Can we go there?" Nepeta asked.
"No," I said. "It's far away and it's very expensive and dangerous to go there. But people who can write books and bring them back, and we can read all about it."
"I think I read one of those books," Meulin said.
"I do have a few," I said. "Mostly gifts from my family over the years. You girls can read them if you like."
"Yes, please!" Nepeta said. She's so eager to learn-it's adorable. I'm so glad my daughters want to learn; it's the greatest joy in my life, and I want them to be happy how they can.
I hope they like the stars. Heaven knows I always have.
30 May 1635
I heard from Etta today. It's not uncommon, of course, but I love to hear from my faraway friend. She's interested in the same parts of the Bible as I am and we can debate on them endlessly. I can't help but write back about how I feel about Job. I understand what it's supposed to mean, but it's hard to swallow. I don't believe all bad things happen for a reason, or that we are not burdened with more than we can bear, so Job's story has always been hard for me.
Etta and I agree on one thing, though: we are not wrong for being women. In church, sometimes they blame women for everything, and Etta and I know that they are wrong.
21 June 1635
I can't believe I lost my journal. I forget things so easily these days, and when I put it down in a different drawer than usual I couldn't find it for three weeks. I am such a wreck.
Not much has happened. My girls are doing well, better every day really, and most of the people I treat in the village are doing well. No major illnesses or outbreaks.
But it is getting a lot hotter, and soon enough people will be doing too much in the sun and I'm going to be treating people who've overheated. It's worrisome, because it can be more dangerous than people realize, so I might just start warning people about the heat now before they can get ill.
I'll teach Meulin how to deal with people sick from heat and maybe she can treat some of them while I handle more complicated cases.
25 June 1635
Simonn would be forty right now. Oh my goodness, I am old. I'm going to be forty years old-past middle age. I suppose I'll live to sixty, and so I am more than halfway there.
A small part of me is looking forward to that day. I can't leave my daughters here, and I love them, and there are so many beautiful things in this world to live for (or so I am told). But when I die, perhaps I can see my family again. Or at least, I can stop hurting for missing them.
I miss them so, so much.
29 June 1635
Sometimes I swear I'm better, and I don't have to be afraid anymore, but today I was on the road to village and I just froze, and I felt cold all over and I just could not possibly force myself to take another step. I had to turn around and go home, and when I got there I was shaking so badly I just curled up in bed with all my blankets and tried to keep breathing.
I know I need to keep breathing.